I am awake.

in the middle of the night during all these bouts of insomnia, I think and think through the different possibilities, turning it this way and that-- never really arriving at any stunning conclusions-- but just to have written one poem can carry me for days. forget audience, forget marketability. here's a lifeline. forget a book. so many clumps of stuff that don't quite cohere. so what. just keep trying to push myself to do some kind of work, some kind of play. don't make it a project. there's the struggle between the part of me that works intuitively, to the beat of an odd clock, and the other, magisterial part that tries to organize, oversee and plan ahead-- feels like they're positioned so at odds with one another. but keeping going needs to be enough.